


La dame en souspirant

by fernlyan_epho



Category: Dune - All Media Types, Dune Series - Frank Herbert
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Fix-It of Sorts, implied future Paul/Irulan/Chani, wlw would have solved Dune Messiah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29504343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fernlyan_epho/pseuds/fernlyan_epho
Summary: Five years into her marriage, Irulan was... unhappy. To say she had merely run out of endurance would be inadequate; were that true, she would have been upset earlier. The truth was obvious, though Irulan continued to skirt around it as long as she could. What had changed these past years was her relationship with Chani.--Irulan strays from the Bene Gesserit not for Paul, but for the kindness and love of his concubine.
Relationships: Irulan Corrino/Chani Kynes
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	La dame en souspirant

**Author's Note:**

> Title and poetry from Audefroi le Batard's "Au novel tans pascour que florist l’aube espine", in the original Old French. Translations (to the best of my admittedly faulty ability) at the end.

Five years into her marriage, Irulan was…unhappy. Yes, unhappy. Just like the ancient _mal mariées_ whose songs were virtually indecipherable though millennia of translation.

 _Qui convent a a mal mari / souvent s’en part a cuer mari_.

But Paul was no _mal mari._ The husband in that story had six sons by his wife, only to abandon her for a servant-girl. That was more her father than her husband. Paul was honorable, and had courteously left her to her own devices. There was kindness in a ruse of a marriage, a kindness for which she had not let herself hope since she was a child. The tongues of court wagged, of course, but that was nothing new.

 _Then why so sad, dear Irulan?_ Her self-scolding, usually in the voice of her father, had recently sounded more and more like the Reverend Mother Mohiam.

Why so sad? And why so sad now?

To say she had merely run out of endurance would be inadequate. It would imply that she always saw this as something which was to be endured. But those first years, she had been grateful when Paul passed by her rooms to Chani’s, and she hadn’t winced when she administered the contraceptive to her supposed rival’s food. But now, she would oftentimes press her ear to the wall, as if hearing the soft cadence of their conversation would soothe her rather than cause her to ache more. And sometimes, she would even “forget” to drug Chani’s food. After all, it wasn’t as though _she_ wanted Paul’s children. But again, that had always been true.

The truth was obvious, though Irulan continued to skirt around it as long as she could. What had changed these past years was her relationship with Chani.

When Irulan had first met Chani, she had expected cruelty. It would have been within her right. Why be kind to your lover’s wife? But though cruelty had come from every other side—oh, what Irulan would do if Alia weren’t eight…—it had never come from her husband’s beloved. She had expected it so much that she had even thought it was there, but the perpetual wry smile behind Chani’s eyes was never at her expense; the impact for which she was bracing never came.

Instead, she got invitations to afternoon coffees, or asked for opinions on dress. When Chani and Harah were laughing at some joke, Chani would turn and explain it to Irulan. They had come to have their own private jokes, knowing looks exchanged in council to be laughed over the next day. One time, only a few months ago, Chani had even confided in Irulan her concerns about her continued childlessness. Irulan had summoned all her training to maintain her deception, but the pity and sorrow she felt had been nothing but genuine.

Chani, of course, was too Fremen to cry, but Irulan almost had herself, trying to comfort the poor woman though the reserved hand-holding appropriate for women of their respective ranks. She was sure she had been shaking with the effort to not embrace her, unsure of how such a breach in etiquette would be received. She had regretted her restraint later that night—one more item on her ever-growing list of mistakes.

She had never wanted to have Paul’s children, but for to appease the Reverend Mother. But now she wanted Chani to. The thought of Chani, grinning as she played with her baby… Irulan’s heartbeat sped up. _If only I could have known baby Leto_ , Irulan thought. _Perhaps he would have been something else Chani could share with me._

Such were Irulan’s thoughts tonight, as she stared out the window, her notebook empty on the desk in front of her. She had heard Paul walk by earlier, but she couldn’t bear to listen at the wall today. While once she could have pretended she was jealous of Chani, or morbidly curious about her husband’s private life, such deceptions were useless now.

So distracted in fantasies of Chani, she almost missed the knocking on her door. When she registered it, she nearly jumped to her feet, but did not reach the door before it was opened, by none other than Chani herself, short hair tousled and dressed merely in her warm sleep clothes.

It was presumptuous, but that was the furthest thing from Irulan’s mind. Truly, Irulan’s mind was not full of much at the moment.

“Chani,” Irulan began, “I’m sorry I missed your knock, please, come in, I…”

Chani smiled, amused and ever-calm at Irulan’s slight panic. As she walked to sit on the window-side of Irulan’s desk, Irulan rushed to join her, trying to sort out her nervousness by putting away her books and pens.

Chani waited patiently, until Irulan was sitting with nothing between them but her desk, and no choice but to finally make eye-contact.

“Like most peoples,” Chani began, “We Fremen are a constellation of contradictions.”

Irulan blinked, and nodded, and forced herself to not fidget with her hands.

“We are a practical people, yet we love our riddles more than our direct speech.” Chani waited for Irulan to nod again, to indicate that she was ready for the message Chani was about to deliver.

“We have discussed the fact of my continued, yet… _unexplained_ , infertility. The Bene Gesserit are keen for you to have an Atreides child. The emperor needs heirs. Usul has sworn himself to my bed.” Chani paused deliberately after each sentence to give Irulan time to build the structure she was outlining.

Irulan’s brow furrowed as she pieced together all of Chani’s implications. The tone of the first sentence alone revealed that Chani, if not Paul, knew the cause of her infertility, and the second sentence confirmed it. If not for this implication, the third sentence would imply that Chani was offering to share Paul, but that would be unnecessary, if Chani had figured out Irulan’s deception. Irulan’s cheeks burned with shame, sure that she had ruined the armistice-turned-friendship-turned-… that she had ruined whatever she had with Chani. The fourth sentence seemed cruel, then, throwing Irulan’s failure in her face one more time.

She swallowed heavily. “Aren’t riddles supposed to have a question?”

Chani smiled, gently, and Irulan felt that for perhaps the first time, Chani was mocking her. “In time,” she said. “This riddle has five premises.”

“Go on, then.” Irulan hardly tried to disguise her hurt. Chani knew everything, apparently; what was the point? _You stupid, stupid fool_ , Irulan’s self-scolding screamed.

“You and I have become quite close.” At this, she placed her hands over Irulan’s, and adjusted her expression.

Irulan saw how much she wanted her to understand what she was saying, but she didn’t—not yet. _If only my thoughts weren’t rushing with nothing!_ “And the question?”

“To whose bed will you swear yourself, Princess?”

True-to-form, the question was itself the final premise: Irulan’s loyalties were undeclared. The fifth sentence, her undefined love for Chani, disrupted the first implication, of her loyalty to the Bene Gesserit. There was a contradiction in Irulan, and the answer would be a choice. ‘Bed’ here was symbolic, of course; it had to be. Both obeying the Bene Gesserit and doing what Chani willed would have Irulan asleep in her own apartments, in the bed imported from Kaitain at a cost meant specifically to annoy.

But then why the fourth sentence? _Usul has sworn himself to my bed_. Irulan had difficulty placing it. Perhaps it merely enforced the futility of Irulan’s choice? If she swore to the Bene Gesserit’s metaphorical bed, nothing would come of it… But if she swore to Chani’s… was it also to Paul’s? And was it no longer metaphorical? (Had it ever been?)

The truth was as obvious as the source of Irulan’s unhappiness, and the ability to ignore it diminished every time her brain processed Chani’s riddle.

 _Vostre amor vos requier, la moie vous presente. / Et se vous m’en failliez, mis m’avez en tormente._ : the husband’s offer to the concubine, here transformed into the concubine’s offer to the wife. Irulan was sure Chani could feel her heartbeat in her hands.

“Yours.” It was a foregone conclusion, yet it surprised her as she said it.

Chani grinned, and when she stood, Irulan stood with her. “I will not require you to swear with blood. You are not Fremen, even pledged to me. But I imagine we might share water in a way more amenable to your imperial tastes.”

Irulan walked around her desk, still holding Chani’s hands. She could no longer pretend to not know what Chani asked of her, but she could admit to a sense of anticipation so large it was practically fear. After all, she had never done this before. 

Irulan stood perfectly still as Chani leaned in to kiss her. Chani’s eyes were closed and there was an ease with which she moved that Irulan didn’t know whether to put down to practice or to an inborn confidence. She swallowed, aware of her heartbeat in her ears and a shaking in her hands.

_Calm down, Irulan, you’ve been taught such things, don’t be—_

Her internal monologue vanished when Chani’s lips met hers. It was gentle, and sweet, and not quite what she was expecting, though she didn’t know what it was she had been. It was brief, too, just a brush with a hint of pressure.

Irulan’s lips parted slightly, and Chani kissed her again, firmer this time. Irulan kissed her back, and with a bit of a shock noticed her other responses: she had closed her eyes, and brought her hands to Chani’s waist. Her knees had given out a little, too; she now sat against the desk behind her, so that Chani, only a few inches shorter, was face-height, even leaning slightly forward over Irulan, her hands on her shoulders, fingers brushing against her neck.

Irulan felt a warmth within her. She didn’t recognize it as arousal, though that came too, when Chani’s hands moved up her neck to cradle her head, brushing aside her hair— _oh_. No, this was a comforting warmth, a sweet sense of being wanted.

She brought her hands up Chani’s sides, and wrapped her arms around her, the closest she had been to another person in years. Chani sucked on Irulan’s lower lip and Irulan didn’t even register the noise she made, head empty but for the exhilaration of _kissing_ and kissing _Chani_.

Chani laughed, so low it was barely heard. She pulled away to stand upright and Irulan followed, dizzily chasing after her kiss. Chani kissed Irulan’s cheek decisively and took a step back, holding Irulan’s hands between their hearts, firmly and tenderly.

“See,” the joke which lit up Chani’s eyes was gentle. “We will have a good time of it.” With one last sweet embrace, she left Irulan to process her choice. 

Irulan was speechless, heart racing, the only words in her head in a language she barely knew, far removed from context, but far better for it:

 _Chani, tant vous voi cortoise et debonaire, / que ja de vostre amour ne me quier maiz retraire_.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I know I have two WIPs but Valentine's Day made me sentimental and I wanted to write about women in love. Women in love! Women in love could have solved Dune Messiah. And many other things. 
> 
> Anyway. Audefroi's poem is super not relevant except that I've been occupied with it for school. It's also not technically a chanson de mal mariée, rather a chanson de toile, but genre lines are a little blurry. 
> 
> Translations: 
> 
> La dame en souspirant: The Lady, sighing  
> (the full line is: "La dame en souspirant a moustré son corage," or, "The Lady, sighing, showed her courage.")  
> Qui convent a a mal mari / souvent s’en part a cuer mari: She who has a union with a bad husband / often leaves with a broken heart.  
> Vostre amor vos requier, la moie vous presente. / Et se vous m’en failliez, mis m’avez en tormente: I beg of you your love, mine I give you, / and if you deny it to me, you have put me in torment.  
> [Sabine] tant vous voi cortoise et debonaire / que ja de vostre amour ne me quier maiz retraire: [Sabine] I see you as so gracious and noble / that I now do not wish to withdraw from your love ever.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I probably won't write more but I clearly am not in control of that, so we might get the negotiations with Paul eventually. I do have thoughts about how that shakes out.


End file.
